


Hunting Practice

by Hstaya



Series: Phantom one-shots [4]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, hunting practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hstaya/pseuds/Hstaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skulker decides to hunt down his prime prey, but is more than a little confused when said prey refuses to fight back. Phantom's spirit has been shattered. This won't do. Skulker can't hunt broken prey: the prize must be his and his alone. Something had to be done about this. Immediately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, trying to figure out conversions from metric to imperial and working out what are normal temperatures in America was interesting. XD It's so cold over there! I don't know how you guys cope. Anywho, another story in my one-shots Danny Phantom series. Like the others, set three years after the cannon series. Phantom Planet happened, but no one, including Valerie, found out either Vlad's nor Danny's identity. Writing from Skulker's perspective was interesting. I've always liked his character. I think he and Valerie are my favourite villains, though Val isn't exactly a villain. Never mind. I also seem to be making an allusion to the Box Ghost in every one of these one-shots. That'll probably be a reoccurring theme. Hope you enjoy!

_Wind speed: three miles per hour. Temperature: sixty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Humidity: 52 per-cent._  
“Not bad conditions for a little hunting practice,” Skulker grinned, flipping down the screen on his wrist. He fired up the jetpack, feeling it thrum through his systems and shot upward, blue flame pushing him through the first layer of cloud and into the bluer sky above. He set his wrist computer to track ecto-signatures in the area and followed the trail of a low-level entity with practiced ease. Hiding in an alley in one of the more run-down sectors of Amity Park by the look of things. He rounded the corner, scouring the rubbish strewn across cement with a curious eye. A small green glow emanated from one of the trash heaps. The bags rustled and fell away as the ghost reared its head to look at him.   
An ectopus. Easy prey. Skulker brought up the net from his other wrist and fired with deadly accuracy. With a small screech the ghost was captured; a level two like this didn’t need any maiming beforehand to stay in his net. The animal squirmed and reached towards him with its tentacles but as it tried the net crackled with blue electricity. The ectopus screeched and slumped down, eyes squeezed shut. Nothing like a quick hunt to pass the time. Although, a more vigorous workout in conditions as perfect as these would be even better. Skulker brought up the ectopus to eye level. He even had bait. The whelp would be almost finished school at this time of day. He could catch him on the way out. Nothing improved Skulker’s mood like terrorizing the ghost brat. In the three years he’d known him, the boy had gone from a level seven to a level eight. The boy’s broader shoulders, stronger legs, more powerful ectoblasts – even duplications of his self had been stabilized to a point – had made him a formidable enemy. Perhaps his most deadly weapon was one a little more subtle; experience had gifted the ghost child with exceptional battle-strategy and well-made split-second decisions were natural to him. Skulker refused to admit the boy had grown up. He was still as bratty as ever in his opinion. Distantly he heard the bell that signified the end of another school day. With a grin Skulker hefted the ectopus over his shoulder and powered up his jetpack again, shooting towards Amity Park High at top speed. He jolted to a stop when he reached the outer perimeter of the school. Students charged out the gates, some in rag-tag groups and others by themselves with their noses stuck in books. Positioning himself behind a tree and very aware that getting too close to the ghost brat would give him away, Skulker released the ectopus in the direction of the gates.

“That should draw Phantom out,” he grinned. The animal made a high pitched squeal as it floated like a balloon over the students. As some of them turned their faces upwards to gawk at the ghost as if they didn’t see one every other day the ectopus began lashing out with its tentacles. The screaming started and students bolted for the cover of trees. One particularly terrified-looking child ran towards Skulker’s hiding spot, plastering himself to the tree, chest heaving with fear. Skulker cleared his throat and the child slowly turned to look at him. It gradually registered in the brat’s mind that he was standing next to a much stronger ghost than the ectopus and the delayed reaction kicked in, sending the child screaming in the opposite direction. Skulker grinned. Striking fear into those lower than him was another pastime he enjoyed. His musing was cut short when he heard someone gratefully shout out _‘Phantom!’_  
“Right on cue,” he growled, charging a blaster and peeking around the tree. Phantom already had the thermos out: the ectopus was smouldering, likely from an ectoblast. No students were standing around, unsurprisingly. What _was_ surprising was the absence of the whelp’s friends. Usually they were inseparable. As his blaster made a quiet _ding_ to signify it had charged to full capacity Skulker shrugged it off. No one to get in the way of his hunt. He aimed at the floating Phantom, who had captured the bait and was currently absent-mindedly running a hand through his ridiculous hair. The slight pause from the halfa was all Skulker needed. He fired, the recoil on the new blaster sending him back half a metre as the massive green energy blast shot towards Phantom. The brat had hardly a second before he was hit and falling. He smacked into the concrete with a sickening crack, but was making an attempt to stand moments later. A poor one, but an attempt none-the-less. Skulker sidled up to him, gloating over the defeated look in the halfa’s eyes as he neared. 

“Where are your reflexes today, whelp?” he sneered. Indeed, it was strange that from such a distance the brat hadn’t seen it coming, but perhaps his bait had been more effective a distraction than he’d imagined. He’d have to try that trick again. Not that there would be an _‘again’_. He had Phantom exactly where he wanted him. Raising his wrist he fired a ghost-proof net _(thank you Masters)_ at the shaking brat, capturing him instantly and reeling him in. Strangely, none of the usual banter ensued. The child’s eyes were downcast, hands wrapped protectively around his shoulders and knees drawn in close. The body language was indeed perplexing: it was as if the confidence had been drained out of him.  
“Whelp?” he asked, less sure of himself. He leered closer, and Phantom buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking visibly.  
“Congrats, you have me,” he said, his voice wavering. “Can we get the de-pelting over and done with?”  
Skulker blinked. He had never seen the brat… the _boy_ look so defeated. He would have loved to have taken credit for breaking Phantom’s spirit, but Skulker wasn’t stupid. It’d take more than one new blaster to derail Amity Park’s ghost ‘hero’. No, no, this wouldn’t do at all. He couldn’t claim someone else’s work as his own prize. Phantom had to be fixed so he could break him personally. Feeling a surge of determination, Skulker dropped the halfa none-so-gently on the cement. Other than a faint _oomph!_ Phantom didn’t comment. He didn’t even glare. Something was deeply wrong. 

“Whelp, what is wrong with you?” he growled. “How can I hunt broken prey? Why must you make my after-life so difficult?”  
“I’m just making everyone’s lives worse, aren’t I?” he murmured bitterly. Skulker’s frown deepened. He kneeled down to Phantom’s level.  
“Child, what happened?”  
There was silence as the halfa seemed to consider the statement, his head still buried in his hands. His shoulders jerked a few times, and it took Skulker a minute to realise he was crying. Not imagining he would regret it later – Phantom barely seemed a threat to the Box Ghost right now, let alone him – he released the net. The halfa barely flinched, instead pushing his head further into his arms and drawing his knees closer to him. Despite himself, Skulker placed a hand on his shoulders, noting how bony they felt. Now he looked, the child appeared exceptionally thin for one of his stature. He hadn’t been eating. Then again, his ghost powers took up a lot of calories; it was possible he’d only skipped one or two meals. Extra stress would do it too. Several minutes passed in quiet contemplation, the young halfa crying almost silently into his knees while Skulker awkwardly patted his shoulders. Eventually the sobbing subsided and the hunter removed his hand. He tried to peer at Phantom’s face, but it was too well concealed. 

Gathering courage in his throat Skulker broke the heavy silence.  
“I’ve never seen you so broken,” the gentleness in his voice genuinely surprised him. It seemed to surprise Phantom too, as the child looked up at him at last. Dark circles had formed under his eyes; his skin was ghostly pale – Phantom usually had a very human skin tone – and his normally emerald eyes were dull and glassy with tears. The closest Skulker had seen to this was the last time the child had encountered Spectra. Phantom’s narrowing eyes interrupted his thoughts.  
“Since when do you care?” he said bitterly. “No one else does. I’ve…”  
He broke off, and the sigh that followed spoke volumes.   
“Go on,” Skulker prompted. The halfa shook his head, hands hanging limply over his knees.   
“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” he said quietly. “You’re – you want my pelt above your fireplace.”  
“Only when I earn it,” Skulker frowned. “You’re safe for now, whelp.”  
The insult was spoken more like an affectionate term of endearment. If Phantom recovered from this he’d never let this down.   
“So, what was that about making everyone’s lives more difficult?” the larger ghost continued. Phantom visibly flinched, his mouth hanging open as if the words were caught in the back of his throat. He shook his head weakly.  
“I did something stupid,” he murmured. Skulker was tempted to tell him that that wasn’t new, but the defeated look on the boy’s face stopped him. Phantom went on after a few moments of silence. “I got Sam and Tucker in trouble with the police. Bad. And I couldn’t explain what had happened because I was a ghost at the time. There’s no way they’d believe me.”  
“Oh come on,” Skulker said, “There has to be more to it than that.”  
The sad look in Phantom’s eyes seemed to agree. “I tried to tell them anyway. They called the GIW. Now Sam and Tucker are under investigation for, and I quote, _‘alleged association with a ghost’_. If they figure out the connection between us, I’m as good as dissected and Sam and Tucker spend the rest of their lives in jail.”  
“Jail?” Skulker echoed. Phantom nodded.  
“The GIW have been pulling strings,” he growled. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if Masters had something to do with it too. New legislation explicitly states anyone helping a ghost – _especially me_ – gets a life sentence.”  
“Seems a bit harsh,” Skulker mused. Phantom frowned in agreement.  
“If I hadn’t been so visible in Amity Park the past few years this wouldn’t have happened,” he murmured. “Stopping ghosts like you from hurting people is, ironically, hurting the people I care about most.”  
Skulker knew he should have felt more guilt at hearing that statement, but even seeing the whelp like this couldn’t make him feel remorse for his favourite pastimes.   
“I’ve essentially ruined my best friends’ lives,” he said, burying his face in his hands again. After a moment of pulling at his hair he looked up at Skulker desperately. “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but _what do I do?_ ”

Skulker paused for a moment, contemplating. Without specifics it would be difficult to come up with a solution. However, a thought struck him.  
“What if we went to them and explained we overshadowed them?”  
Phantom blinked. “We?”  
“You’re my prime prey,” Skulker said, “I need you spirited and in one piece so I can break you personally. No government agency is taking that honour from me. Your human half makes you vulnerable.”  
“Good to know,” Phantom murmured, a small smile gracing his lips. At his proposal, Skulker could almost see the thoughts running through the halfa's head, his eyes beginning to brighten as his mood lifted.  
“Overshadowing… might work,” he continued. “But why would we need to admit that to them? They barely believe _I_ have good intentions. They’ll never believe _you_ do.”  
“Then we don’t tell them,” Skulker said, “Not outright. We overshadow your friends and storm out of there. When the GIW storm in we pretend your friends have gained back control of their bodies through willpower and we fall out in front of the government idiots. We make some sort of stupid exclamation that explains away everything your friends are in trouble for and make our escape. The GIW will have to let them go once they think we’re the ones who are responsible.”  
Skulker studied Phantom’s contemplating face. Colour had flushed back into his cheeks, and he held his head more upright, a hand clasping his chin in thought.   
“It’ll damage your reputation further,” Skulker said. “But that’s a sacrifice you’ll have to be willing to make.”

“How do I know you won’t betray me?” Phantom asked. Skulker frowned.  
“I need you in one piece, remember? Can’t make a pelt from tattered remains,” he grinned. Phantom’s eyes glowed cheekily. The young halfa stood, immediately beginning to float a few centimeters off the ground in excitement.  
“Police station’s this way,” he said, pointing north. Skulker stood next to him, smiling and starting up his jets. He shot into the air, Phantom immediately following. They travelled in silence for a minute. This wasn’t how Skulker had intended to spend his afternoon, but seeing the spirit back in the boy’s frame, his shoulders squared and fingers curled into determined fists as he flew, it seemed worth it. Phantom must have felt him staring because he turned to the hunter with a smile.  
“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” he began, “But… thanks.”  
“Don’t expect me to pick you up every time you decide to break down,” he growled cheekily. Phantom let out a laugh.  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”


End file.
